


get you right where you like it

by jk_rockin



Series: the skirt game [3]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Crossdressing, Hand Jobs, M/M, Sex Games, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:07:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25243624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jk_rockin/pseuds/jk_rockin
Summary: The skirt still fit him. Grace had made it for him, after his last natural growth spurt; by then, the others had pretty much all left, but he'd liked having it in the closet anyway, a plaid twill amulet of hope against loneliness. He'd touch it, sometimes, and think about how they'd come back someday, and things could go back to being the way they were.Everyone was back now, even Five, but things weren't the same, and they weren't ever going to be. That was okay. In some ways, things were better, and the other day when he’d run across Klaus and Diego fooling around in a hall closet, Diego’s clinging black skirt riding up his thighs, he’d thought-It didn’t matter what he’d thought.
Relationships: Diego Hargreeves/Luther Hargreeves
Series: the skirt game [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1628518
Comments: 4
Kudos: 55





	get you right where you like it

**Author's Note:**

> A weirdly melancholy little interlude; almost more a character study with a handjob in it than actual porn. Totally consensual, doesn't reference earlier sections of this series other than the existence of the skirt game. If I didn't tag for something and you think I should have, let me know. Title, again, from "Me & U", by Cassie.
> 
> (yes, this is the artist formerly known as findyourfortunefalling.)

Luther looked at himself in the mirror, and saw his own face crumple with disappointment. It wasn't _that_ bad, really, but he'd gotten out of the habit of looking at himself very often pretty much immediately after the accident, and sometimes the sight of his new proportions still took him by surprise.

The skirt still fit him. Grace had made it for him, after his last natural growth spurt; by then, the others had pretty much all left, but he'd liked having it in the closet anyway, a plaid twill amulet of hope against loneliness. He'd touch it, sometimes, and think about how they'd come back someday, and things could go back to being the way they were.

Everyone was back now, even Five, but things weren't the same, and they weren't ever going to be. That was okay. In some ways, things were better, and the other day when he’d run across Klaus and Diego fooling around in a hall closet, Diego’s clinging black skirt riding up his thighs, he’d thought-

It didn’t matter what he’d thought. He sat down on the edge of his bed. He couldn't go out like this. He looked ridiculous. The skirt, a version of the Umbrella Academy uniform skirt several inches shorter than Sir Reginald would ever have allowed in the field, kicked out in neatly ironed pleats that only emphasised the cartoonish size of his chest. Maybe his waistline hadn’t changed, but almost everything else had, and it was stupid to think that a silly teenage game would make a difference.

He was about to get up and put some pants on when a knock came on his bedroom door. “Hey, big guy,” said Diego, muffled by the wood paneling. “You coming down? I got the training dummies all set up.”

Luther cleared his throat, turning his eyes away from the mirror. “Yeah,” he said, trying to sound normal. “Yeah, I’ll be down in a minute.”

A pause. “You feeling okay?” said Diego, too softly for Luther’s comfort.

"I'm fine," said Luther, and winced. He didn't sound fine, he sounded wobbly and sad, and Diego was definitely going to laugh at him-

The door opened. Luther didn't bother to try to cover himself up. Diego had seen; there was nothing he could do about that, now. He looked down at his legs, big and hairy and pale from too much time inside, and braced for the jokes to start.

"I didn't know you still had a skirt," said Diego. "You threw a bunch of stuff out, I thought."

"It still fits," said Luther, more defensively than he meant to.

"Yeah," said Diego. 

Luther made the effort to drag his eyes up to meet Diego's- not that much of an effort, considering; even sitting down, his head was level with Diego's chest- and tried to interpret the look on Diego's face. He didn't look like he was about to crack a joke, but Luther couldn't have said what it was he did look like he was about to do.

"It was stupid to keep it," Luther said, suddenly desperate to not be having this conversation. "I was just gonna put on some pants, anyway."

"Why would it be stupid?" said Diego. His voice was still too soft. Snarky, Luther could handle, but soft? No. 

"I know what I look like, Diego," he snapped, feeling his cheeks flush.

Diego tilted his head. He said nothing for a moment, then took a few steps backwards, eyes never leaving Luther's, and closed the door behind him. "I don't think you see what other people see," he said. "When you ditched your Scott of the Antarctic jacket, I thought you'd got this shit out of your system." Grace had made his new shirts, too, since Luther now exceeded the limitations of any ordinary Big & Tall section. They were nice. Soft, and comfortable, with snaps down the front so he could put them on by himself without having to wrestle with buttons. Nobody had said anything about them, not even Diego, which had seemed like a minor miracle at the time. "It's… been warmer," Luther said weakly.

"Yeah," said Diego again, stepping in between Luther's spread knees. "Take your shirt off."

Luther blinked up at him. "What?"

"The rules of the game," Diego said slowly. "If you're wearing a skirt, anyone can use you however they want."

They'd had a safeword, before, though he'd never personally needed to use it. Luther could say no if he wanted to. He didn't think he did. It felt like it took him forever to lift his hands off the bed, and longer again to undo the top closure of his shirt, but Diego just waited, hands loose at his sides, as Luther got his shirt open and pulled the tails out of the skirt's waistband. Luther shrugged out of the sleeves, laid the shirt next to him on the bed as neatly as he could, and fought the urge to cross his arms.

Diego leaned down- although, again, not very far- and took Luther's face in his hands. His palms were rough and a little sweaty, but that was okay, and he was so gentle as he tilted Luther's chin up to get at his mouth that it wasn't until they were actually kissing that Luther realised he'd never kissed Diego before. They'd screwed around, and put their mouths in other places, but it had always been... competitive. Aggressive, sometimes. It had certainly never featured these long, shallow kisses, with the tiniest flickers of tongue; he'd never had Diego's fingers curling under his ears, or his thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. It felt good, but it also felt really weird, and a little like someone was very gently cracking his ribcage open.

"Hey," said Diego. His thumb passed under Luther's eye, and in its wake Luther could feel a damp streak on his face. Was he crying? "You want to stop?"

"No," Luther said. At some point he'd started clutching Diego's arms, and he was finding letting go of them harder than expected. "I'm fine. Sorry."

"It's okay," Diego said.

“I’m being weird,” said Luther. He was possibly still crying. He wasn't sure, but he didn't want to touch his face to find out.

Diego rolled his eyes. "You’re always weird,” he said, and kissed Luther again, more firmly, just lips on lips. He didn’t let Luther deepen it; instead he pulled away, moved his hands down to Luther’s chest, and slid to his knees between Luther’s legs.

He’d had Diego on his knees before. When they’d played this game, he’d usually been too impatient to wait for anything that slowed down getting his dick somewhere warm. It had felt different, then, to look at Diego from this angle. He’d felt big, powerful, in control. Now he felt very aware of how little he had on, and of how close Diego’s hands were to his femoral artery, and of how he must look, all spread out like this. The jumble of emotions wasn’t enough to stop his cock stirring, though, or to prevent him letting Diego slide his hands up under his skirt.

"See, this is what I'm talking about," Diego said, tugging at the waistband of Luther's boxers. "Why put on underwear today at all?"

"I don't know," said Luther, but that wasn't quite true. He always put underwear on. That was what you did at the start of a daily rotation; you got up, did a set of isometric exercises to prevent muscle atrophy, put your sleep clothes in the laundry chute, washed your body, put on day clothes. There was a list on the wall and everything.

Diego rolled his eyes. Luther lifted his hips, and let Diego drag his underwear down and leave them puddled around his feet. Tactically disadvantageous. Maybe that was the point. Maybe what Diego wanted had nothing to do with strategy or tactics, or even much to do with Luther’s muddled feelings, really. It would be nice to have something that was as simple and straightforward as his brother wanting at his dick.

Cool air wafted over his groin as Diego flipped his skirt up, exposing him. “Y’know, this is really unfair. Steroids are meant to make your dick shrink,” said Diego, thumbs sliding up to frame the base of Luther’s cock.

Luther shifted under his gaze. “I don’t take-”

“I know, I know, Jesus,” Diego groaned. “You don’t take compliments either.” He took Luther’s dick in his hand, weighing it, feeling it. Luther wasn’t hard, but Diego’s hand was warm, and his callouses felt good. It didn’t feel much like Luther remembered, but then, he couldn’t remember when the last time was. Probably sometime before Ben. He couldn’t even remember who had been in the skirt, the last time, and that made him feel sad- as sad as he could feel with Diego on his knees touching him, anyway, which wasn’t very.

“That feels good,” he said.

“I should hope so,” said Diego. He tightened his grip, jerking Luther off in a slow, steady rhythm, and he laid his other hand on Luther’s chest, just touching. That was new, too, and Luther liked it. Their faces were close together, both tilted down, both watching Luther getting hard in Diego’s grasp.

They stayed like that for a few long minutes, silent, just breathing. “Do you want,” Luther blurted. “I’m wearing the skirt, so you can- we can do whatever you want.”

“We are,” said Diego, in that soft voice he used when he thought someone was being an idiot.

“You just, uh, just want to jerk me off?” Luther asked.

“I could suck you off instead,” Diego mused. “Might sit on your dick later, too, or maybe fuck your thighs- I remember liking your thighs.” He leaned back, watching his words rattle around in Luther’s skull, and twisted his hand in a way that made Luther’s thighs quiver.

“Diego,” Luther said. It was increasingly difficult to form sentences now he was all the way hard. Hard and leaking- his precome was smearing up the inside of Diego’s wrist- and not a little desperate, just from being touched.

“You want that, big guy? You want my mouth, or my thighs? All you gotta do is ask,” Diego murmured conspiratorially. “But I don’t think you need it. I think you’re gonna come for me just like this.”

Luther whined in his throat. He should be reciprocating, or doing something sexy, but the weight of Diego’s attention made him feel hot and overwhelmed, and it was all he could do to keep himself propped up on his hands while Diego did what he wanted.

“That’s it, that’s it,” Diego said, low and crooning. He leaned right in, nudging his forehead against Luther’s jaw, and he was right, that was it. Luther came with a choked-off groan, striping Diego’s hand with come. He sat there, shuddering with it, letting Diego keep stroking him until the pleasure tipped over into discomfort and he had to nudge him away.

Diego looked down at his sticky hands, and laughed a little, though not in a mean way. He reached over and snagged the box of tissues from Luther’s bedside table. Luther watched him wipe his hands, and spread his legs again to let him mop up the mess on Luther’s thighs, still a little breathless. He didn’t move when Diego stood up, or stop him moving away; he sat still when Diego came back from his closet with a pair of Luther’s pants.

“You wanna go out there in the skirt, or do you want these instead?” Diego asked.

Silently, Luther accepted the pants. He pulled them on, pulling up his boxers along with them. When he got them up his thighs, he stood up too, and unzipped the skirt, shuffling it down over his pants. Diego had managed to avoid letting him stain it, so he shook it out, and laid it out on the bed, and picked up his discarded shirt. “I might, later,” he said.

“Yeah,” said Diego. He watched Luther put his shirt on and snap the buttons closed. He didn’t offer to help.

“Do you want,” said Luther, gesturing at Diego’s boner where it tented out the crotch of Diego’s pants. “I can-”

“Nah, it’ll keep,” said Diego. He adjusted himself, an unselfconscious movement that made Luther’s mouth go dry. “Breakfast, then training. Grace is making waffles.”

Luther tucked his shirt in. Diego rolled his eyes again, but didn’t comment. “I like waffles,” Luther said.

“Controversial stand to take, but I’ll allow it,” Diego said. “Come on. You’ll need your strength for when I put your ass on the ground later.”

Grinning, Luther went to find a pair of shoes. He was looking forward to that.


End file.
